Wendy
by Catherine Spark
Summary: This is after the 2003 film. Character interpretations and details contained will refer to this adaptation. A 'canon' attempt to get Peter and Wendy back together again without changing the story. And provide a potential canon way for Peter to grow up, then become a boy again and go back to Neverland, over and over indefinitely.


**WENDY**

It is 1978, but the house in Kensington has barely changed from when the woman was a child. Countless people have told her she should modernise, but she would never consider it. She is alone now, and this house, as it is, contains all her memories and all the stories she told as a child, which were later passed on to her brothers, and then her 'brothers' and their children, and their children's children.

That was how it all started in the first place. Now her brothers have passed on, after long, eventful, selfless lives. The oldest brother's wife is still alive, but she is in a home. The younger brother's wife died a long time ago, having her fourth baby. As for her 'brothers' – many of them are still alive, along with their wives and children. They often visit her – the children look forward to the visits almost as much as she does, for Wendy is never short of something interesting to do, or a story to tell. They keep her young. She has photos of them all smiling at her from the walls of her house. In fact, the photos are one of the few changes, apart from the electricity.

On her mantelpiece there are pictures of the woman's grown up daughter, her husband, and _their_ daughter. Her granddaughter's name is Margaret. Like her grandmother once had, she has dark eyelashes, a full rosebud mouth, and brown hair that falls in waves around her face and shoulders. In one picture Margaret is pulling a sword out of a stocking. And in another, she is twirling in a dress. And in a third she is rocking a doll to sleep.

The house is beautiful, like she was once, she thinks, and smiles. She let go of all that long ago, and now her hair falls in white curls. She is a very old woman, 86 to be exact. Her skin is peppered with liver spots and streaked with wrinkles. She moves slowly, precariously, as if she might break or fall down if she moves any faster. But she doesn't mind. She is happy with her life as it is now.

On the lid of the grand piano which her husband – who died in the First World War – bought her as a present to show her how much he loved her, there is a much older photograph. One of the few from her childhood, and by far her most treasured. She and her first brothers are bouncing on the bed in the old nursery. You can see Nana in the background. It's something Father would not have tolerated Before…but Afterwards it made him laugh. He had joined them one time, with a bit of persuasion, but the racket had brought Mother running, and for once she had NOT approved!

It is late at night now, and she really should be going to bed. She feels tireder, somewhat heavier than usual, but for some reason she has the urge to stay up later. So she makes her way, one step, two steps, three steps, four steps, five steps, six steps up to the nursery – which she moved back into with help from Jane, after her husband died. She grips the banister for support. They've told her she should install a stair lift in case she falls. She is so frail now, they say, that a fall could be her undoing. But she is fine. She doesn't mind taking a little longer, and being that bit more careful.

She pushes the reed curtain that covers the nursery door aside. The children have been playing in here again, which delights her, because they play with all her old toys. There are the swords, that John and Michael used to hack at each other with, and Mother lived in constant terror that one of them would take the other's eye out by mistake. And there are the bows and arrows, one of which struck a vase of Mother's once. As a punishment, Father had confiscated all swords, bows and arrows for a month, to teach the children to be more careful. Wendy had simply tided them over with stories. When they got the swords and bows and arrows back they had been all the more eager to enact the stories Wendy had told.

She is glad that her grandchildren don't play with guns like other children these days. She knows swords are arguably just as bad, but there is a certain undeniable romance, and dance-like feeling to fencing one's way to victory.

There are the feathers and face paints the boys used to turn themselves into Indians. And there is Nana's collar. Margaret often puts this on, and plays Nana, who would frequently end up being hunted (in the garden), or guarding some ship (or bed) as her pirate owners looted and pillaged. And there's a princess dress which, again, Margaret would be forced to wear, so that she could be rescued from the rock (or window) by Peter and his lost boys. Wendy grins – she never sees the little building blocks with letters on them anymore, or the farm animals, or the toy soldiers in red uniforms and tall, furry hats. It wasn't the toys' faults of course, but they did rather lose their appeal Afterwards.

She goes to the window, and opens it. She can't sleep with it closed these days. Aside from finding it stuffy when she is forced to close it, she's lived all these years with the flickering, most would say childish, hope of a visit from a friend…or two. She sits on the windowsill and leans her head back on the wall of the alcove. The moon is full, large and radiant tonight, and the sky is sprinkled with stars. Apart from the odd cloud that scuds across the sky, it is ringingly clear, and almost bright enough to read a book. Hanging low in the sky are two stars, side by side. Second on the right, and straight on til morning. She smiles. Her eyes gradually become tired from focussing on the point of light for so long, but she doesn't actually notice them closing.

The next thing she remembers is becoming aware that the star seems to be getting bigger, and is a strange shape. It is elongated at the sides, and as it grows in size, she can make out two outstretched arms, and a head in between them. It is a figure, flying towards the window. At first she is too sleepy to register the significance of this, and then she is on her feet, straining with all her might, and then her hand is outstretched towards the figure...but as it draws nearer she sees that it's not him. It's a little girl, in a white night dress. A strangely familiar little girl. Her face is somewhat in shadow, and she seems to have a glow around her – like moonlight. The girl's nightgown and curls move in the warm breeze, and sits on the windowsill. Her bare feet dangle above the floor. "I'm bound for Neverland tonight," she says. The woman can't see it clearly, but she feels in her heart that the girl is smiling. "Would you like to join me?"

There is a cryptic tone in the little girl's voice that the woman can't quite put her finger on. For a few seconds she can't speak. "I'm old…" she says at last. "And I have grown up."

"That won't be a problem," says the little girl, "You can use _my _body." She holds out her hand to the woman.

The woman looks around. "Where will we get fairy dust to fly?"

"You don't need fairy dust anymore," says the little girl. "Not now that you've grown up."

And suddenly the woman knows. She knows who the girl is – a girl she has looked at on top of the piano every day for the last sixty years. And she understands what the girl is asking her. And she finds herself torn.

"The grandchildren…?" she asks.

"They'll be alright."

"My brothers?"

"You'll find them waiting for you in Neverland."

The woman takes a deep breath. "If I go with you I will never come back. That's right, isn't it?"

The little girl nods.

The woman looks down. "Never is an awfully long time."

The girl nods. "But remember that time is relative," she says, gently. "They will miss you every day, and they will ask why you had to go. But there will come a time, I promise you, when they will understand."

The woman still hesitates, but she feels her heart tugged, and she knows what she has to do. She gives the nursery one last glance, closes her eyes and takes the proffered hand. And suddenly, she can move in any direction without pain or stiffness. Her skin is soft and clear, her hair thick, brown and curly again…and she feels her lips full, and a boundless energy and excitement rising inside her. All adult worries and concerns melt away, and she finds that she is free to dream, free to imagine, free to pretend as only a child can.

"I'm ready!" she says, and she looks around for the little girl. But she can only see one other person; a very old woman who looks as if she is sleeping, sitting on the sill of an open window.

-/-/-

Peter Pan is skimming over the sea, trailing one hand in the water and creating a white wake, which streams out behind him. Every now and then the uneven drag the water creates causes him to nearly overbalance and pitch into the water. Each time withdraws his hand and rights himself, laughing as he does so. Tinkerbell is bouncing off the wake, scattering stardust into the spray and foam. Peter is singing to himself:

"_She had ME to thank when she fell from the plank, and the pirates put up a good fight,/ But Crocky got Hook, the silly old crook, and the ship flew away in the night!"_

As he nears the shore, he can see the shapes of people coming into sight on the beach. The figures grow more distinct, and he sees that they are his band of lost boys. But in the middle of them there is a different figure. A girl. Slightly taller than the boys, and wearing a nightdress. Tinkerbell perches on his shoulder to get a better view.

Wendy.

No, he must be imagining it…or else he's dreaming. He ducks onto a cloud where, unseen, he peers at the party again. If it is a dream it isn't one he wants to wake from, but curiosity gets the better of him eventually.

"Pinch me, Tink," he says, and braces himself for disappointment. With a gleeful squeak, Tinkerbell obliges. "OW!" Peter quickly covers his mouth with his hand. He doesn't want the party below to know he's there yet. He frowns "It hurt. I can't be dreaming…" he whispers. He slips off the cloud and floats down. Wendy gives him the biggest smile he has ever seen as she catches sight of him. He does not smile back – he's afraid she's going to disappear and make him sad again. He stares at her.

"It's you," he says.

"Yes," she says.

"But you grew up…" he says.

"And then I grew back down again," she replies. "My brothers did too. Didn't you recognise them?"

"I'd forgotten," Peter says.

He holds out his hand, and Wendy takes it. The two of them rise up, up above the trees, and above the other children, who crane their necks and strain their ears. They perch on a cloud, with their legs dangling over the edge.

"Did you forget me as well?" Wendy asks him.

"Never!" he shouts. They both grin. Peter draws breath. He squeezed his eyes shut. "Husband…" he gets out, with a great effort. He shudders, and looks at Wendy questioningly.

Wendy shakes her head. "Husbands are a grown up thing," she says. "The grown up me belonged to my husband and my children. _This _me belongs to you, and always will."

"I thought you didn't want to come back here…" Now there is a catch in his voice which he valiantly tries to disguise.

Wendy looks into his eyes. "Every night…" she says, "Every night I sat by the window, hoping you'd come back."

Peter looks down at his feet and feels ashamed. He bites his lip and tries to be brave. "Are you cross with me?" he asks.

"No," says Wendy. She reaches out for his hand and swings her legs back and forth. "That was in the past. It's now that matters."

"Are you going to go away again?" he asks gruffly, through a clenched jaw.

"No, Peter," Wendy replies. "This time, I am here forever."

Peter looks at her as if he can't quite believe what he's just heard. Then the aura. And the sparks beginning to jump. "Peter," gasps Wendy, "You're pink!" Peter doesn't reply. The tension builds and then…

"_YAHOOOOOO!"_

He rockets upwards, blasting Wendy off the cloud as he does so. She rights herself as he soars high into the sky, and then down in a spectacular loop-the-loop, yelling for joy, before going silent and hovering at eye level. "Come with me," he whispers, and he grabs her hand again.

"Where are we going?" Wendy asks as they take off.

Peter turns and grins, and she sees the devil and the hero, the adventurer and the heart, the extraordinary and the human all rolled into one.

"On an awfully big adventure," he says.


End file.
